Sometimes
by II PermaFrost II
Summary: Why did his chest feel tight, his throat burn and his tongue feel thick in his mouth? It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never like this. This simply wasn't the way of things. He was Bubba Gumball! He didn't mess things up, he didn't do things wrong! That was Marshall Lee's job!


It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It was never like this.

This simply wasn't the way of things.

The pink haired man stood in front of the dark stained wooden door, hand hovering over the burnished bronze handle. Absently, his other hand tapped at his thigh, fingers picking at the fabric of his pants nervously. He stood on the rough, almost spongy feeling welcome mat laying on the cream coloured porch in front of the door, looking everywhere but through one of the three small, rectangle windows in front of him.

"I'm being silly! It's my own house!" The man scolded himself, scowling furiously and yet, his hand still hovered over the door handle, keys still clutched firmly and no closer to the lock than they had been before he'd spoken.

Somewhere behind him, a bird chirped, a kid rang their bike bell and someone shut their car door with a dull thunk. Still, Bubba Gumball stood before his own front door, seemingly unable to go in, a nervous frown fixed on his face.

"I am not at fault." He said aloud, tilting his head upwards slightly, glaring down his lightly freckled nose at the dark wood of the door. "I have nothing to apologize for." His voice was sharp and determined, almost as though he was trying convince a someone of some fact.

The man blinked his violet eyes and stared hard at the door, thin lips flattening out into a tight line, breaths puffing angrily through his nose. He shoved his key into the door lock and grasped the handle with the other hand, thumb resting on the latch.

The door stayed shut.

With a huff of exasperation, Bubba whirled around, ran his hands through his hair and gave an angry stomp with his foot.

"I have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about! This is my house and I am going to turn around and march right in there!" He glared at the stone steps leading up to the cream coloured porch, hands clenched into fists by his sides, shaking slightly. "Ugh! This is ridiculous! Completely, ridiculous!" He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at the key sticking out of the door lock. "Utterly foolish!" Determindly, he turned around, and stared sourly at the key in the lock.

Striding forward, he reached out, grasped the key, turned it and upon hearing the click of the lock, quickly pushed the door handle latch and pushed the door open.

The house was quiet.

Bubba leaned in through the door, fingers tightly gripping the wooden edge, feet still firmly outside on the rough, yet spongy, brown welcome mat. He stood there, unmoving, eyes fixed straight ahead, ears straining to hear any noise within the house. The very faint ticking of a clock and the low murmuring bubbles of a fish tank was all he heard. The near silence of the house was almost deafening.

Bubba tapped his fingers on the door edge, chewing on his lip as he stared, gaze descending onto the little table along the left wall, just inside the door. Sitting on it, as usual was the creamy gold vase over flowing with flowers and sitting next to it, also as per usual, was another set of keys. The pink haired man glared at the keys. The hook for them was literally on the wall, right across and up a bit from the vase and flowers.

Bubba glared and the keys still sat there. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the door and still, the misplaced keys sat where they usually did until he came along and moved them.

"Tsk... This is silly." He whispered quietly, still scowling at the keys. "I'm-" He flicked his gaze up at the white cat now sitting just past the little table, looking at him curiously. Bubba stared at the cat and the cat stared back. "I'm not apologizing." He whispered to the cat, tapping his fingers yet again and looking back at the keys. "I have nothing to apologize for!" He near hissed, once again, sounding as though he were trying to convince someone.

The cat merely stood and walked away, swishing her tail at him.

"I don't!" Bubba hissed again, gradually inching his way into the house and quietly shutting the door behind him. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, leaning back against the door.

He pressed his hands flat against the wood behind him, frowning and looking ahead, still straining to hear some sound other than the quiet ticking and watery burble.

He tapped his fingers against the door briefly and then pushed himself away, sucking in a sharp breath as he knelt down to carefully, slowly and methodically untie and take off his shoes. The ticking of the clock, though no louder than it had been or usually was, was beginning to dig into his mind, the ticks making the beats of his heart seem loud.

Sweat beaded down his nose, his hands trembled on the shoe laces.

"Stop it!" Bubba whispered furiously, jerking one shoe off his foot and then the other. Standing, shoes held tightly in his hands, the pink haired man glared and bit his lip. He remained still for one tick, two ticks, three... Snarling angrily, Bubba stomped forward and still holding his shoes in his hands, he marched through the house, scowling at the ticking clock on the living room mantle as he went by and giving the clown fish in their tank a glare, as though they were the cause for his ire.

He moved quickly, hands tightly gripping his shoes, teeth grinding against one another, eyes narrowing in on the light pouring out from a slightly open door.

It wasn't his fault!

Bubba stopped outside the door, chest heaving.

He didn't do anything wrong!

Carefully, he nudged the door open a little further.

It wasn't his job to apologize!

The white cat looked at him from her place curled beside the man sitting on the floor. The man had silky looking black hair that fell messily down past his ears. He was wearing a red shirt, sleeves rolled up sloppily past his elbows, blue jeans with holes in both the knees and no socks. Marshall Lee rarely wore socks, or warm pants or a coat for that matter; the cold just didn't bother him.

He was facing away from Bubba, surrounded by CD cases, some lying open, some sitting in small stacks. It looked like his entire collection was on the floor around him. He hadn't seen Bubba, or heard him for that matter, the shiny black head phones covering his ears blocking out all sound.

He had nothing to feel guilty for!

Schwarbelle bumped Marshall's knee with her soft white head and Marshall lifted his hand and gently patted her, scratching her ears tenderly.

So why did his chest feel tight, his throat burn and his tongue feel thick in his mouth? It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never like this. This simply wasn't the way of things. He was Bubba Gumball! He didn't mess things up, he didn't do things wrong! That was Marshall Lee's job! It was Marshall who was supposed to say and do the wrong things. It was Marshall who was supposed to buy the flowers, the chocolates, the little stuffed bears and say 'I'm sorry for being an asshole.' in that adorable little way he always did it.

Marshall wasn't supposed to open his mouth all angry and pissed off like and then shut it without saying anything. Marshall wasn't the one who'd look away and then down, cheeks colouring. It wasn't supposed to be Marshall who swiped away the hurt and the tears with flick of his hand. Marshall wasn't supposed to give a bitter little laugh, a tight little smile and say, 'Yeah. You're probably right." and then stay quiet for the rest of the evening. He wasn't supposed to start the car without a word. He wasn't supposed to drive them home silently and he definitely wasn't supposed to say, "I'm... I'm gonna go to bed." without looking up.

Purring, Schwarbelle crawled into Marshall's lap and rubbed her head against his chest as she slunk her way across him, drawing a little chuckle from the man. The small laugh piercing Bubba's throbbing heart.  
>As the cat wound her way around Marshall, the dark haired man twisted his body, quirking an eyebrow and smiling his crooked little smile at his beloved pet.<p>

"Schwabby, what you doin...?" His voice trailed off and Marshall's confused, brownish red eyes drifted up to Bubba standing in the room doorway, a shoe clutched tightly in either hand, shoulders tense, back rigid, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. "Uh... Bubbles?" Marshall reached up and slid his headphones off the top of his head and down to his neck. "What's up?" He asked cautiously, eyeing the pink haired man curiously.

"I..."

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I... uh..." Bubba's voice cracked.

It was never like this.

"Marshall, I'm... Uh..." He swallowed.

This simply wasn't the way of things.

"I'm sorry."

The clock in the living room ticked, the salt water fish tank bubbled and Schwarbelle purred. Bubba licked his lips and blinked rapidly, the words that had been haunting him all day spilling from his mouth.

"I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean to... I didn't..." The word were foreign on his tongue, difficult to pronounce and voice. "Last night, I said... I said some things that..."

Reddish brown eyes stared levelly at him, the crooked little smile having long since fallen from his lips.

Shaking, Bubba reached up and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, shoe still clutched tightly by his fingers. He swallowed again, bit the inside of his cheek and met Marshall's eyes miserably.

"I'm sorry..."

Marshall's head tilted to the side and he gave a slow blink. Bubba took a deep breath and looked down at the Cds surrounding the man.

"I'm so sorry... For hurting you."

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never like this. This simply wasn't the way of things with them, but some things, were a lot more important than personal pride.

The shoes fell to the floor with two solid thunks and Bubba moved jerkily forward, dropping to his knees beside Marshall, his cheeks pink, eyes glistening.

"I didn't think. I didn't... I shouldn't have... I just..." He cupped Marshall's face in his hands, willing the crooked little smile he loved so much to slip onto the mans face, to reassure him that things were going to be fine that he was, forgiven.

But Bubba knew he wouldn't get that little smile. He knew he wouldn't get that little quirk of the eyebrow and faint glint of teeth. He knew those reddish eyes wouldn't look at him mischievously and promise him utter chaos until he said the right words.

"I..."

He held Marshall's face tightly, fingers brushing back loose strands of his hair.

"I'm sorry for being an as-"

Soft, cold lips quickly pressed against his own, cutting off the last word.

Bubba blinked.

A small, a little smaller than normal, but crooked little smile looked at him and one slender black eyebrow rose just a touch.

"Get me some hyacinths. Those purple ones I always buy - they're the 'I'm sorry ones'. The card shop next to the donut place down town has the best apology bears and I think tonight's a good night to try out that new dessert bar, yeah? I want a piece of the most expensive thing they serve."

The tightness in his chest eased, the hot feeling in his throat cooled and his tongue unstuck itself from the roof of his mouth. Bubba took a steady breath, stroked Marshall's cheek with his thumb and pressed his forehead against his.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never like this, but when it mattered, sometimes it was.


End file.
